


We Were Soldiers Once, and Young

by dwell_the_brave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, PTSD, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwell_the_brave/pseuds/dwell_the_brave
Summary: Albus doesn't want a wand, Scorpius wants to be the Scorpion King, Harry wants to put things right and Draco wants to save his son. No one said that 'after' might be harder than the 'before'.





	We Were Soldiers Once, and Young

**Author's Note:**

> Thankful to [sara_holmes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes) for her quiet encouragement and side-eye glances while I raved like a loon over beer about teenagers and their inability to deal with FEELINGS. 
> 
> I felt it would be wrong of me to miss this special day (September 1st 2017 - 19 Years Later) without marking it in some way, and so I submit to you, Dear Reader, the post-Cursed Child Fix-It of Sorts fanfic that's been dwelling in my brain since I walked out of that theatre over a year ago today. 
> 
> Let's do this. 
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://dwell-the-brave.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dwell_the_brave) (which is locked, but unless you're really creepy, I'll accept a follow request!).

When Albus’ father wrote to him, and told him that he and Mr Malfoy were going to come and collect both him and Scorpius for a trip to Diagon Alley that weekend, to buy them new wands, Albus stared for so long at the parchment that he was surprised it hadn’t burst into flames.  His parent’s owl, Isolde, nipped at his fingers because he hadn’t given her a treat and, dazed, Albus reached for a rasher of bacon from his plate and offered it to the Barn Owl before looking up and around the dining hall, trying to see if Scorpius had come up for breakfast yet.

He had, though he was lingering by the Gryffindor table, chatting to Albus’ cousin Rose, the very tips of his ears flushed so pink that Albus could see them from the other side of the hall. He felt a something gnaw at his throat, something that felt like frustration and fear and regret, but he ignored it. As Scorpius stepped away from the Gryffindor table, Albus looked at the letter again, reaching for Isolde and stroking her with one hand before she shook him off and spread her wings, flying away, just as Scorpius reached the Slytherin table and sat down opposite him.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking at the parchment in Albus’ hand. Albus passed it over and Scorpius opened it, his dark eyes flitting side to side as he read the message. He looked over the top at Albus and gave him a small smile. “That’s good, isn’t it? We can get back to lessons properly now,” he said, sounding pleased, folding the parchment back up and tucking it under the rim of Albus’ plate. Albus swallowed and reached for his mug of tea, cradling it in his hands - he noticed that they were shaking slightly. He had found life strangely peaceful without a wand, watching his classmates wave and flick theirs while he and Scorpius made notes. The idea of having one back in his hand unnerved him.

“I suppose,” he admitted and Scorpius eyed him carefully before plucking a slice of toast from the platter in front of him and slathering it with butter.

“So, your cousin and I have made plans,” Scorpius said with a waggle of his eyebrows, swiftly changing the subject. Albus shot a betrayed look at Rose’s bushy hair while Scorpius helped himself to jam.

“Oh?” Albus asked, trying to sound casual and failing. Scorpius didn’t seem to notice. 

“Well, obviously not this weekend now, I’ll have to ask her if we can go next weekend, but I suggested we go to Madame Puddifoots in Hogsmeade and she agreed!” he said in one breath, before taking a bite of toast. Albus stared at him.

“You’ve never been to Hogsmeade. Neither of us have,” he said quietly, thinking of that flare of heat in his hand as he had set the permission slip his Dad had given him on fire last year. Scorpius shrugged.

“I asked Aarden for a new permission slip and sent it off to Father. I think, given all we’ve been through this year, he won’t be opposed to signing it,” he replied and Albus nodded along, dazed. “Have you asked your Dad to sign a new one for you too?” Scorpius asked, tilting his head slightly. Albus shook his head.

“No. I don’t want to bother him, really. He’s got a lot to… clean up, after everything,” he said quietly, reaching for his fork and poking the tines into his fried egg. The yolk broke and dribbled onto the plate. 

“I suppose,” Scorpius said, inclining his head. They lapsed into silence. 

Albus tried to take a bite of egg and bacon and found it tasted like ash in his mouth, so he instead sipped his tea as the Great Hall began to fill up with students ambling in for breakfast. Professor Aarden came into the hall, following a gaggle of Slytherin first-years, her long straw-blond hair tied down her back in a plait, and she gave Albus a nod in greeting when she caught him watching her. He looked back down at his tea.

“Are you okay?” Scorpius asked after a long few minutes of silence. Albus’ throat closed with anxiety but he forced himself to nod.

“Yeah, it’s just… It’s odd without Craig, isn’t it?” he said, nodding to the gap in amongst the Sixth Years. A few girls were red-eyed and sniffling. It had only been a week, so Albus couldn’t blame them. Craig’s girlfriend, Eimhir Darrow, refused to look at either of them, and both Scorpius and Albus couldn’t bear to approach her. His Dad had already petitioned the Minister’s Office for an Order of Merlin (Second Class) for Craig, but it did nothing to relieve the guilt that Albus felt.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rang, and students began to gather their things to head off for their first lessons of the day. Given that it was a Thursday, Albus was off to Care of Magical Creatures on his own, while Scorpius went to Muggle Studies, with Rose. Previously, that thought wouldn’t have bothered Albus, but now… A nasty pang shot through his chest. He pulled his bookbag out from underneath the bench and hoisted it onto his shoulder, swaying slightly with the weight.

“Well, I’ll see you for Potions,” he said briskly, and he brushed past Scorpius without another word, feeling Scorpius’ fingers skim across his forearm as his best friend made an aborted grab for him. He put his head down and kept walking.

He followed the small group of mixed Hufflepuff and Slytherin students heading for Hagrid’s hut, his eyes tracked on the grass under his feet. He slowed to a stop as the rest of the group gathered under the shelter which had been crudely constructed a few years ago, following many students’ complaints about waiting in the freezing cold. Albus lingered by the hut, hoping to catch Hagrid before the lesson truly began. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Albus!” Hagrid said, delighted, having opened the door of his hut and spotting Albus by the fence of the pumpkin patch. Albus gave him a weak smile as the half-giant lumbered over, and allowed Hagrid to pull him into a hug, leaning slightly into the embrace. He had known Hagrid his whole life, could remember riding his boarhound (the Fang of his Dad’s youth had died years before and now they were on Kipper) like a horse as a child, and Hagrid always made time for him. “How are yeh?” Hagrid asked, beaming down at him, a heavy hand resting on Albus’ shoulder.

“I’m okay…” Albus said, and Hagrid gave him an unconvinced look, his bushy black eyebrows raised.

“Are yeh? Really?” he asked and Albus felt his throat constrict again, so he made himself nod and give Hagrid another weak smile. He obviously didn’t believe Albus but didn’t press any further. He just nodded and smiled. “Yeh’ll like this,” he said, his voice pitched low for only Albus’ ears, and then he called out to the rest of the class. “Righ’, good mornin’ everyone!” his loud voice boomed across the grounds. Those huddled under the shelter looked over. “C’mon, get yerselves over here! Got summat to show yer!” he told them, and then he gave Albus one final smile and began to lead the class to the edge of the woods.

Albus followed at the very edge of the group, careful to leave space between him and his classmates. He had been used to living on the edge of Slytherin House since his first year, when it was decided that he was too Slytherin for the Gryffindors and too Squib for the Slytherins. Scorpius had previously bridged the gap between him and them, being of good Slytherin heritage and strong magical abilities, but now, even Scorpius felt distant to him. 

“Righ’, who here has heard of Thestrals?” Hagrid asked the class, pausing at the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest. The class, who just yesterday were introduced to the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, June 1996, by Professor Proctor (who had replaced Professor Binns last year, after Binns had finally been convinced of his own passing by Professor McGonagall and had decided to retire) raised their hands. Albus kept his by his side. He knew all about it, and was frankly dreading what was to come.

Hagrid looked pleased with class. “I’m takin’ yer into the forest today to show yer our herd of Hogwarts Thestrals. Bred them meself! Started with a male and five mares, and now we have a herd of ‘bout seventy,” Hagrid shoved one enormous hand into the pocket of his great overcoat and withdrew a load of glasses. From where he stood, Albus could see they looked like the 3D glasses he and James got the last time they went to the Muggle cinema, and he could see most of his classmates looking at them dubiously. He took the pair that was handed to him and waited for further instructions.  “These’ll help you see the Thestrals. Invented by our own Luna Lovegood just a few years ago!” Hagrid said proudly, and then he motioned for the class to follow him into the forest.

They trailed behind him, through the dark trees and over well-walked paths, careful to avoid tripping over roots or stepping on anything mysterious. Along the way, Hagrid paused now and then to point out something - a hoof print from a Unicorn, the chipped bark of a tree to show where a Centaurs arrow had found it’s way, poisonous mushrooms and healing foliage. Albus listened without taking any of it in, his mind drifting towards the dreaded wand that would soon be put back into his hands.

They reached the clearing where the Thestrals were grazing after a few minutes of walking. His classmates looked around the area blankly, all of them completely incapable of seeing the skeletal horse-like creatures in front of them, but Albus could only stare at them. Hagrid laid one of his large hands on the rump of the largest of them, and the class giggled to see his hand floating in mid-air, at least to their eyes.

Albus felt the world tilt and shift a little bit, but he didn’t stumble. Up until that moment, he could have almost believed that Craig was out there, somewhere, on a holiday or out of school for a family matter, but seeing the Thestrals only confirmed it - Albus had seen death. He had seen death that night on the Quidditch Pitch, and he now carried the weight of that with him.

At Hagrid’s word, the class put on their glasses, and Albus heard a few gasps and cries amongst them. A few of the girls clapped their hands to their mouths, and one or two of the boys took a few steps back, suddenly aware how close they were standing near them. Albus could see a small mare snort at Gwenllian Davies, who jumped and skittered back.

Hagrid began his lecture once the class had settled again, though Albus could tell that they were all unnerved by the creatures. He stayed towards the back of the class and barely listened, his thoughts running away with him.

What would it be like to walk away from this class, back to the castle and straight into his bed? He could pull the covers up over his head and fall asleep and pretend, for a few hours, that everything that had happened, hadn’t. That Craig was still alive.

He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, could see the world going faint at the edges.

Quietly, he sat down on the grass and ducked his head low, trying to breathe normally. He would not faint here, he would not let his classmates see it. They were all too absorbed in what Hagrid was saying to pay attention to him, slumped on the cold ground, but even so. 

After a minute, he felt like he could stand again, and he slowly got to his feet, brushing down his robe to dislodge any foliage stuck to him. Hagrid was winding down his lecture on the creatures, and had lumbered over to the other side of the clearing, picking up a metal bucket. He brought it back over, and a few of the students gagged. Raw meat was piled inside and from the smell, it was all fresh. Albus covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe and breathed through his mouth, trying not to gag, himself.

“Righ’, any questions?” Hagrid asked. No one spoke, but then again, the entire class had covered their lower faces with their sleeves, like Albus. Hagrid took the lack of response as no further questions, so he gestured to the bucket. “If everyone grabs a steak then - yes, I know they smell, Miss Lloyd - and finds themselves a Thestral. I’ll come around in a moment, check on yer,” he told the class, and with a few grimaces, Albus’ classmates fished out slices of meat and wandered around the clearing. Albus stayed where he was, waiting for Hagrid to come over, which he did once everyone else had taken some meat. A few housemates looked like they wanted to chuck it back in Hagrid’s face, but were resisting.

“Albus! Yer not wearing yer glasses,” Hagrid said, sounding disappointed, and Albus turned his face up to the giant, blinking.

“I don’t need them, Hagrid,” he said quietly. Hagrid’s face fell, and for a moment he looked devastated.

“Oh, Albus,” he said sadly, and Albus waved a hand.

“It’s - it’s fine, Hagrid, really, I’m okay-,” he started, feeling a ramble coming on, a nonsensical chain of niceties in an attempt to assure Hagrid that he could deal with this, yes, he really could, but Hagrid just put one heavy hand on his shoulder and the words died in Albus’ throat.

“I’m sorry, Albus,” Hagrid said in a low rumble, and tears suddenly burned in the corner of Albus’ eyes. He pressed his lips together, hard, and felt his teeth cut into the soft flesh. He shook his head, and the sympathy in Hagrid’s eyes was too much. 

He knocked Hagrid’s hand off his shoulder and marched over to the bucket, blinking rapidly. He grabbed a sliver of meat, and went to find a sole Thestral. In the corner of the clearing, hidden in the shadows of the trees, was a foal, who clicked his beak when Albus approached. Albus held out the meat, and the foal tilted his head, clicked his beak again, and ambled forward. The watery late autumn sun caught his leathery wings as he flexed them, his white eyes trained on the steak Albus held out to him. Once the foal’s beak snagged the edge of the meat, Albus let the Thestral pull it out of his hand, and stood back to watch. The foal barely let the meat touch the side of it's mouth before it was swallowing it down, clicking it’s beak in pleasure, though it eyed up Albus’ empty hands with disappointment.

"Sorry, I think you only get one each,” Albus murmured to the foal, who shook its mane. It was young, probably born towards the end of the summer, but it was on its own at the edge of the herd. Albus could feel Hagrid’s eyes trained on the back of his neck, but he didn’t acknowledge it until the half-giant approached him.

“He was rejected,” Hagrid explained, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, calling the Thestral over. It skittered over on thin legs, pressing it’s narrow face into Hagrid’s hand. “His mother didn’ think much o' him. So, I took care of him meself. He’s a good lad,”  

“I know a little of what that’s like,” Albus said quietly, following Hagrid’s lead and touching the foal’s neck - it was surprisingly soft. If Hagrid had heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Does he have a name?” he asked and Hagrid smiled, his beard twitching. 

“O’ course! His name is Caratacos,” Hagrid said affectionately, and the Thestral huffed, as if acknowledging his own name. Albus knew better that to question Hagrid’s choice in name, so he just stroked the Thestral until Hagrid went to check on the rest of the class.

Standing in the clearing, stroking Caratacos, Albus felt like he was dealing, maybe if only a little bit, with what had happened.

Before too long, the loud _clang_ of the class bell sounded across the grounds, and Hagrid got them to gather their things and head back to his hut, where they took turns to wash their hands under the tap in the pumpkin patch. While his classmates used their wands to dry each others hands, sending blasts of warm air across their fingers, Albus shook his hands to fling off some of the droplets, and then let the cold sting at his still damp fingers as he trudged back up to the Castle. 

It was the least he deserved.

He followed the Slytherins down towards the dungeons, while the Hufflepuffs split off up the stairs for their Charms class with the Gryffindors. Albus was quietly thankful that this year, the Slytherins and Gryffindors didn’t have too many joint classes, and if they did, it was for subjects he didn’t study.

He queued up outside the dungeon with the rest of his class and waited patiently for the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw second years to file out, and then for Professor Aarden to call them in. She was bent over her desk, sorting through a stack of parchment as they all got themselves settled, her eyes flickering up to the doorway as Scorpius ran his, his bag whacking him on the thigh as he flung himself through the doorway, just in time for the bell that signalled the start of the lesson.

“Just in time, Mr Malfoy,” she said in her short, clipped accent, and Scorpius’ cheeks, already flushed from running, went a bit pinker. “Take your seat,” she said, and Scorpius dropped into the seat next to Albus, grinning at him. Aarden straightened up, and tapped her wand against the corner of the blackboard - clear, precise writing began to appear on it. “Today we will be focussing on the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Now, if you would all pay attention to the board-,” she started, but Albus was distracted by the press of Scorpius’ ankle against his own. He looked over and frowned at his friend.

“Sorry I'm late," Scorpius whispered, and Albus fought the urge to roll his eyes. He shrugged and picked up his quill, dipping it into his inkpot, ready to take notes. He tried to look past Scorpius to the blackboard, which was now showing moving diagrams of the technique they were supposed to be using today, but Scorpius kept talking to him. “I had to talk to Rose, let her know that I wasn’t going to make it this weekend. We agreed next Hogsmeade weekend now, though that probably won’t be until the end of November,” he said in that breathless, excited way of his. Albus ignored the way it felt like his whole chest was caving in on itself.

“That’s good,” he said tonelessly, lifting his quill from his parchment - the ink had seeped in and looked like a bloodstain. He sighed and refilled his quill, determined to make a few notes.

“Yeah, you think so?” Scorpius said, tilting his head. He knocked Albus’ ankle with his own again and gave him a half-smile. “How was Hagrid?” he asked and Albus opened his mouth to speak, but Aarden called his name. He turned to look over at her. She was tapping her wand against her elbow, her arms crossed over her chest - little purple sparks flew from the end.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked, and she pursed her lips.

“Do you know which component of this potion makes it so that it is only as effective as is needed?” she asked and Albus squinted at the blackboard. While his eyesight was still pretty keen, he was dreading the day he had to wear glasses. He didn’t want to be compared to his Dad any more than he already was. 

“Uh, the Wiggentree Bark?” he suggested and there was a pause before Aarden nodded and continued with her lecture. Scorpius mouthed ‘Nice one!’ at him, but Albus ignored him, scribbling down the next set of notes that appeared on the blackboard with a wave of Aarden’s wand.

Aarden finished up the instructions for the class and tapped her wand against her desk, lighting the fires beneath their cauldrons. She checked the sun dial on the wall at the back of the classroom (Albus had no idea how she told the time from it, considering they were in the dungeons and it never got any daylight), and nodded.

“You have an hour and a quarter to complete stages one through three of the potion. You may begin,” she announced to the class, and there was a mad scrambling for ingredients and equipment. Albus looked down at his notes, which were barely coherent, and glanced at Scorpius’ - though he had looked like he hadn’t been paying any attention, his notes were thorough and neat. Albus resisted the urge to kick him.

He left his desk and went to collect some ingredients from the store cupboard - he was running low on pomegranate juice. He made a mental note to ask his Father if he could get some in Diagon Alley over the weekend, and then he studiously ignored his stomach clenching in anxiety at the thought of why they were going to Diagon Alley in the first place.

While in the store cupboard, he also picked up some Honeywater, aware that Scorpius was low himself. It was purely by accident that he nearly walked into Scorpius as he left the store cupboard.

“Sorry, I just needed to-,” Scorpius began, but Albus held out the Honeywater, and Scorpius grinned. “Thank you,” he said, smoothing his fine blond hair back behind his ear. Albus swallowed whatever he was going to say and ducked his head, heading back to their shared workspace. 

In silence, he and Scorpius began to work. Albus shredded and chopped and sliced and diced until the tip of his right index finger was numb from pressing down with the knife. He brought a goblet measurement of pomegranate juice to the boil and then added the shredded Flitterbloom stalk and waited for the potion to turn violet. Beside him, Scorpius was already measuring out his Honeywater, his crushed beetle eyes a fine powder on his chopping board in front of him. 

Albus scanned over the next steps in the recipe, and his heart sunk as he read step ‘ _2j - wave wand in a figure of 8 movement above the cauldron until the potion turns golden and has an effervescent simmer,_ ’. He raised his hand, albeit reluctantly, and Aarden came over.

“Yes, Mr Potter?” she asked, her sage green robe brushing against the edge of his desk. 

“I don’t have a wand, Professor,” he pointed out and Aarden pursed her lips. She looked over at Scorpius.

“Mr Malfoy, I don’t believe you have your wand either?” she said, and Scorpius shook his head. 

“No, Professor,” he said. She thought briefly and nodded.

“Please let me know when you have reached this stage in the potion-making process. I will assist you,” she said calmly and they both nodded. She surveyed their potions, and added another pinch of the shredded Flitterbloom stalk to Albus’. The potion grew a darker shade of violet. “Better,” she murmured, more to herself than to either of the boys.

"Snape was terrifying," Scorpius said in an undertone to Albus after a few more minutes of working in silence.

“Was he?” Albus said, trying to catch one of his own beetle eyes from his supplies - they kept quivering out of the way of his fingers as he tried to grab them. Scorpius nodded, smoothing his hair back again. It was a nervous gesture, something he did when he was dwelling too much on something, but Albus didn’t want to pry. 

“Yeah. I only had three lessons with him, but I can understand why he was Professor Longbottom’s greatest fear back in his third year,” Scorpius said, a little breathlessly. That story had gone down in legend in the school, and Longbottom enjoyed retelling it to third years after their first introduction to boggarts (now done in one-to-one sessions with Professor Hussain, which Albus found to be a relief - his boggart had turned into his father, which shocked Hussain).

“Dad always said he was a great wizard,” Albus said, finally snagging a beetle eye. It’s colleagues cowered as Albus brought the hilt of his knife down onto it, crushing it into a powder.

“He was kind of a dick,” Scorpius said, somewhere between mildly outraged and disappointed. Albus huffed a laugh and looked over to Scorpius, grinning. But Scorpius wasn’t smiling, and Albus felt his own smile drop from his face. Scorpius rarely talked about what happened in that alternate timeline, at least not to Albus. He was sure his own Dad knew more about it, purely because Scorpius had to be ‘debriefed’. All he knew was that Scorpius found it exceedingly lonely.

“You should all be at stage two now,” Aarden announced to the class at large. There was a pause and then a bit of scrambling as those who had fallen behind tried to catch up. Albus surveyed the ingredients in front of him, and then grabbed his chopping board, tipping the crushed beetle eye into the cauldron, before adding a splash of honeywater.

“Did you even measure that?” Scorpius asked, his head bent low so he was on eye-level with his measuring glass as he measured out bat blood. Albus ignored him, reaching for his diced camomile leaves. 

“Potter!” He heard Aarden shout from across the room. Albus turned to look at her and was met with a face full of very thick, sickly-sweet smelling steam. He coughed, his eyes stinging, drawing in a deep breath as he coughed again. Aarden was chanting in a foreign language and Albus blinked his eyes open to see the steam had been encapsulated in a bubble, floating harmlessly. Aarden frowned at him, her plait swung over her shoulder. Albus could feel Scorpius’ fingers digging into his upper arm, where he had reached over and grabbed him. 

“Are you alright?” Scorpius said in a rushed whisper, directly into his ear. 

“How much honeywater did you add, Potter?” Aarden asked, and Albus just stared at her, feeling Scorpius’ fingers flex. She glanced to the ceiling of the classroom, almost as though asking the Heavens for help, but looked back down at him. “Did you inhale any of that?” she asked, and Albus shrugged with one shoulder.

“Maybe when I coughed?” he suggested and Aarden sighed, flicking her wand and banishing the steam. She extinguished the fire beneath Albus’ cauldron with another flick.

“Off to the Hospital wing, Potter, I want Madam Lewis to check you over. Dreamless Sleep is not a potion to be trifled with. I’ll bottle up what you’ve brewed today so you can continue next time,” she said kindly, and Albus nodded, packing his things quietly but quickly. He left, leaving Scorpius looking worried behind him, feeling for the second time that day Scorpius’ fingers miss him as he walked away.

The castle halls were empty, save for the distant clanging of Peeves bouncing around a deserted classroom, and Albus managed to reach the Hospital wing without meeting anyone. He slid open the door and Madam Lewis looked up from where she was bent over the leg of a sixth year girl, who looked as though she had gotten a bit too close to a Venemous Tentacula.

“Sit down Potter, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said with a small smile, before turning her eyes back to the sixth year’s leg. The girl looked over at Albus and winced.

Albus sat on the edge of one of the spare beds, dropping his bag by his feet. He picked a loose thread on the sleeve of his robe until it frayed and then broke, and Albus felt a hint of shame - his Grandmother would be very upset if she thought he was ruining perfectly good robes out of boredom. To resist further temptation, he sat on his hands and scuffed the heels of his school shoes on the stone floor.

After a few minutes of waiting, Madam Lewis bustle over, her usually stark white pinafore blotched green.

“I’ll just let Miss Bachchan sleep that off,” she said with a smile, which Albus was pretty sure meant the sixth year had fainted. “What’s the problem with you then? Not another run in with a Time Turner, I hope,” Madam Lewis said teasingly, flashing him a wide grin, her teeth white against her dark skin. Albus flinched and the smile faded. “Too soon?” she asked in a murmur and Albus merely kicked his heels again. “Well, what is it then?” Madam Lewis reached for his arm and Albus released it into her tender mercies - she pressed her fingers to his wrist and lifted the watch that hung from her robe.

“I inhaled some steam from a partially-made Dreamless Sleep potion,” he said, and she dropped the watch back down. She leaned forward and pressed her fingers to the underside of his jaw on either side of his face, and instructed him to hum. He did so, eyes turned to the ceiling, until she stepped back.

“You don’t feel light-headed, or drowsy at all?” she asked, and Albus shook his head.

“No, not at all,” he said quietly and Lewis pulled out her wand from her apron, igniting the end with a murmur. “Follow the light please, Mr. Potter,” she said, and he followed as the light made all sorts of patterns in the air, figures of eight and celtic notes and even some Slavic runes that burned behind his eyelids. After about ten minutes of this, and interrupted by a puking second year staggering in, Lewis gave him the all-clear. Just as Albus was about to pick up his bag and head down to Morning Break, she disappeared into her office and came back, holding a plain, slim book.

“Dream diary,” she said, handing it over to him. Albus looked at it skeptically, and Lewis shrugged. “Well, currently it’s just a plain notebook, but I’d like you to use it as a dream diary. The only true way to know if a Dreamless Sleep potion has had any ill-effect is to record your, well, dreams. Give it a week and come back, we’ll review then,” she said, before bustling over to the second year, who had just thrown up again. Albus shoved the notebook into his bag, and set off down to the Great Hall.

*******

He forgot all about the notebook until he sorted through his bag just before bed that night. Scorpius was dozing on the bed next to his, his eyes half-open and his lips parted as he breathed deeply, but Albus could tell that, somewhere not very far below the surface, Scorpius was still aware of what was going on around him. Trying to not make any noise, because he didn’t want to explain the dream diary, Albus slipped it beneath his pillow, and clambered into bed.

Drawing the thick green curtains around his bed, Albus closed his eyes and listened to the distant sound of the lake brushing against the dungeon walls to lull him to sleep. Before he fell asleep, though, just a moment before, he felt the feather-light touch of a cool hand upon his brow…

*******

_He was aware and he wasn’t. He was both awake and sleep, and both here and there at the same time._ ‘I must be asleep, _’_ _he thought, brushing his fingers down his arms, feeling the flesh pucker and goose-pimple under the light touch._

 _In the distance, he could hear the sound of a woman humming. It sounded like she was humming a lullaby, and Albus edged closer, wanting to hear more_.

“Lavenders green, dilly dilly, Lavenders blue…” _she sang, her voice soft and lovely. Albus swayed on the step, feeling sleep become heavier as he walked closer to her voice._ “You shall love me, dilly dilly, for I love you _,” her voice grew fainter with each step, but Albus dragged himself on. The distance seemed to be so close and so far away at the same time._

 _“_ Wait _,” he said_ , “Come back,” _he felt himself fall to his knees, swaying dangerously on the spot._

“Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so?” _the woman sang still, and her voice faded against the sound of the fluttering wings._

_Albus gave up, and lay on the floor of his dreams, feeling both cool stone and plus carpet against his cheek and fevered brow, and he tried to keep his eyes open but they were closing, closing closing… Dimly, he was aware of someone approaching him, reaching down to smooth his hand and pat his cheek, their hand soft and cool. He made a small noise and knew it had leaked into the real world, knew Scorpius would hear it and come to wake him, but he didn’t dare move, didn’t try to open his eyes more._

_Whoever it was next to him, and Albus had a creeping feeling of dread gnawing on his spine, knelt down and leaned low over him, so as to sing the next line directly into his ear._

“Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, it told me so…”


End file.
